Chapter 66: Chapter 66

According to the latest news, the brazen killer had already fled Nolan City, so Jenkins wasn't involved for the time being. Papa Oliver was simply informing him of the matter.

Jenkins was still wondering if the so-called "Reaper" was a reference to the Church of Death and End when Papa Oliver produced a reddish-brown cane from behind the counter.

He handed the cane to Jenkins, who took it. Its design was quite plain, but it felt more like metal than wood.

"I already have one. It cost me three..."

"This is an Extraordinary item."

Jenkins froze for a moment, then blinked, activating his Eye of Reality. The entire cane emanated a red glow.

"B-12-5-7102, the Spirit Striking Cane. It requires no special activation; as long as it strikes its target, it can harm spiritual entities. Even an ordinary person can use it."

Papa Oliver explained, unprompted.

"The last Mysterious Realm."

Papa Oliver sighed. "You rescued me, and you gave up that gold nugget that could transmute objects, didn't you? Consider this compensation."

"Really, there's no need."

Jenkins quickly tried to refuse. Papa Oliver had been nothing but kind to him and had taught him a great deal; there was no need to keep such a precise tally.

"Just take it when I tell you to. I've got plenty of nice things lying around."

He shot Jenkins a glare. "It can easily disperse common spirits and even harm malevolent ones. It's far more effective than a standard pacifying charm."

So Jenkins had no choice but to accept.

The carriage sent by Miss Mikhail arrived promptly at half-past five.

It was a plain black carriage, and the coachman up front, dressed in a gray overcoat, beckoned for Jenkins to climb aboard.

Cane in hand, Jenkins had expected Miss Mikhail to be waiting at the salon, but upon climbing inside, he found both her and the red-haired Hathaway Hersha already seated.

"It's been a while, Miss Hersha. Good afternoon, Miss Mikhail."

"Hello, Mr. Williams."

"Good day, Mr. Williams."

Once Jenkins was seated, the carriage began to move at a gentle pace. The two young women across from him were dressed in nearly identical blue dresses, cinched at the waist with wide white belts that accentuated their fine figures. Each wore a jeweled hairpin in their long, golden and red hair. Latest content publıshed on Novᴇl_Fire(.)net

Jenkins only dared to entertain the thought. Noticing the silence in the carriage, he decided to break it, asking:

"I was wondering what the activities for today are. Will we be discussing our thoughts on books?"

He had specifically prepared for such a topic; while his insights might not be brilliant, he was confident he wouldn't embarrass himself.

Miss Hersha's gaze shifted, a faint blush of shyness coloring her cheeks as she held onto Miss Mikhail's arm.

"Actually, everyone is supposed to invite a writer they know to the gathering tonight. We couldn't think of anyone suitable on such short notice, so we asked you to come... I do apologize."

So, it was just a party thrown by a group of rich kids with too much time on their hands, and these two had dragged him along at the last minute to fill a quota.

Jenkins finally understood.

"It's no problem, but I'm still not clear on what we'll be doing tonight."

"It's like any other tedious gathering. People will chat about recent news and share interesting stories."

Miss Mikhail finally spoke, a light laugh in her voice:

"Mr. Williams probably doesn't enjoy such dull affairs either. I imagine you're the type who dislikes social gatherings, preferring to focus on your work and writing."

The compliment made Jenkins feel a little sheepish.

"I'm sorry for inviting you to such a boring party."

She gave a slight, apologetic nod. "But some of our friends are fans of your work. I thought you might enjoy the chance to speak with them."

Her tone was strange, and her expression was a half-smile that gave no clue as to her thoughts.

The carriage rolled onward as the sky outside grew dark, the city veiled by a shroud of dim clouds and smoke. Workers, their day done, ambled along the streets and disappeared into alleyways, while groups of gentlemen and ladies strolled along the cobblestone paths, their laughter echoing in the evening air.

A young flower seller nearly collided with the carriage, prompting a loud shout from the coachman. Miss Hersha offered Jenkins an apologetic smile.

He had been wondering why two noblewomen were traveling alone so late at night. It wasn't until he alighted from the carriage that he noticed a second, identical black carriage had been following them. Four young women in maid uniforms stepped out, and one of them was built like she could take on two of him.

"Not exactly easy on the eyes."

Jenkins thought to himself. He smoothed the creases from the hem of his clothes, tapped the path with his new cane, and followed the two young ladies up the steps. Miss Mikhail reached out and knocked on the door of the modest two-story building.

After a moment, a middle-aged maid with a decorative hairpin opened the door. She greeted Briny Mikhail and Hathaway Hersha respectfully, offered a polite hello to Jenkins, and then led the three of them inside.

As for the maids behind them, they would enter a little later.

Several young people were already gathered in the apartment's living room. They were all around the same age as the two ladies, dressed in fashionable, proper attire. After a few brief pleasantries, the introductions began.

Jenkins, a polite smile fixed on his face, went around shaking hands. It seemed everyone present had read his collection of stories, as each person brought up a different tale. One young woman, her face a little too powdered, even used the handshake as an opportunity to tickle his palm.

The other invited authors were just as enthusiastic. They were, without exception, young and handsome. Jenkins had never heard of any of their books, but he feigned a look of pleasant recognition for each. He may not have been a social butterfly, but he understood basic etiquette.

Of course, he privately thought that no one in the room looked younger than he did.

Once the formulaic introductions were complete, Jenkins noted that most of the guests were the children of nobility—one was even the third son of a duke. There were a couple from merchant families, but only two.

He wondered if the social divide between the great nobility and the rising bourgeoisie had become so pronounced, or if this was merely a coincidence.

Pondering this, Jenkins found a place to sit, only to realize that all the invited authors had congregated in one area, while Miss Mikhail and Miss Hersha were talking with their friends on the other side of the room.

"You're Mr. Williams, the author of the 'Stranger's Story Collection', aren't you?"

The table was laden with fruit and pastries. Jenkins had just thanked a maid for a cup of tea when the person beside him spoke.